


Open Wounds and Duct Tape

by iwill_rocc_you



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Freeform mostly, Titty Twister bar, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwill_rocc_you/pseuds/iwill_rocc_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie could sit on that dirty couch and kiss the preacher’s daughter until the sun came up; no need for heavy breaths and hands knotted into long brown hair, fingertips digging into his back- hours of sitting on the couch and just letting Kate press her lips against his own, the most basic and simple sign of affection, a thing that Richie craved above all else. A thing Richie didn’t realize he craved until that moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Wounds and Duct Tape

She was an open wound, something he was familiar with. How many times had Richie looked at Seth and seen the same thing? The same innocence lost because of the bastards that surrounded her, that surrounded them? Richie could almost laugh at the sight of the preacher’s daughter in the middle of the Mexican bar, looking pale and milky under the dull, colorful lights of the strip bar. She was certainly a sight, practically glowing with virginity and naivety from a mile away, something the dogs in the bar certainly sniffed out almost immediately. The asshole at the entrance of the bar made sure of that, but Richie wasn’t leaving. If it had been any other time, any other circumstance, he would have left- (probably unwittingly convinced by her big green eyes, absolutely no malice to be found amongst the gold and brown flecked orbs) but he had a purpose in the bar, and he didn’t know how, but Kate was a part of it.

“Richie…” his name on her lips was soft, and he could feel the heat of her breath against his cheek, warm and tantalizing, and everything he wanted and didn’t need. “Richie, please… please, just let us go.”

If Richie could guess what Kate would taste like, it would be honeysuckle. Something sweet and clean, organic and untouched by dirt and sin. And if cracked open she would burst on his tongue and he would swallow every drop of her like a man dying in a desert.

Kate was the kind of girl Richie used to dream about when he was a kid, before he got caught up as a criminal, living his life out of the back of stolen cars and cheap motel rooms, robbing banks and stores and pickpocketing. When Richie was laying back in his own bed in Kansas he used to think about what kind of girl he wanted, and Kate was everything he could ever ask for. She was beautiful, smart, and sweet, she didn’t call him crazy, and she didn’t look down at him- and he didn’t want her to fear him. He wanted to make that very clear to her.

She grew closer to him and he internally groaned at how good she smelled, even if they were on the road for a couple of days, even with the mixture of cigarette smoke in the air and the soft hint of tequila on her tongue, she smelled like a promise of something Richie Gecko would never have.

The only reason why Richie let that stripper grind against him was because if he didn’t look too hard she looked like the woman he was searching for, that teased him in his dreams and whispered in his ear, stroked that fire in Richie that hadn’t ever been touched before. He let that stripper grind against him because she had been so good at saying those words back to him that if he didn’t listen too closely he could hear the echo of the mysterious woman in the back of his mind. Skin was skin, and if he didn’t touch for too long he could pretend that it was her.

Kate had shattered that image, that little dream that Richie had been clinging to on that couch, letting the fire finally rise in him because someone who understands him is all he ever wanted.

Pushing away the stripper hadn’t even been a challenge because in that moment Richie was almost ashamed at the primitive urge he had, the evidence of his body’s betrayal throbbing painfully against the seam of his pants- he sighed at the sight of Kate and wished she hadn’t seen.

“What is it, Kate?” he asked with an air of impatience, making it seem like he was more annoyed with the fact that she interrupted, rather than the fact that he let himself get wrapped up in intangible fantasies.

How she had the courage to sit next to him on the couch was a mystery to Richie- though he was impressed at the evolving nature of the girl.

Richie distantly wondered if Kate knew what happened on the couch she planted herself on, how many different acts against God she was pressing herself against. Those trails of thoughts didn’t help his painful state.

Up close Richie saw the wound in the girl, as easily as he could see the betrayal of _gordita_ , as easily as he saw his brother’s fear and disappointment, and how easily he saw himself slipping into the claws of the mysterious seductress that guided them to the Titty Twister. He wanted to press his hand to her chest, over her heart, push the blood back in and make her whole again- though her blood would only drip out through the hole in his hand, and they would both remain broken and incomplete.

Richie wanted nothing more in that moment to fix her, the good little girl with tequila on her breath and fear in her eyes, trapped with the likes of him in a piece of shit bar in the back end of Mexico, far from where she should be. He wanted to make her _whole_ again, wrap her wounds in duct tape like he did himself and see if she pulls through and sees the way _he_ sees.

Though she never would.

“Richie…” again his name on her tongue was a guilty pleasure, and he couldn’t help but think that she shouldn’t be saying his name all breathless and close when he could hardly control himself, strung out from visions of nameless women and blonde snakes. “Richie, please… _set me free_.”

Richie blinked, looking at Kate for a moment, heart stuttering for a second in his chest because that was exactly what he wanted to do, he wanted to set her free. He wanted to let her finally see the truth, see her own wounds and find a way to fix them, let him find a way to fix her.

Though there was a darker part of him, invoked by the sacred words whispered to him from red lips in the darkness, breathed against the shell of his ear that sent shivers down his spine- always leaving him unsatisfied, restless. The darker part that made him move closer to Kate, to where he could count her dark, long lashes in the dim light, see the rosy hue of her flushed cheeks, the blown state of her pupils, ringed thinly in that tempting shade of green. Those same words had left a vision’s lips, and now left the lips of a girl Richie could never have.

“Why did you say that?”

He moved even closer to her, and he could feel her shifting closer to him- there was a strange atmosphere in the room that made it hard for Richie to breathe, hard for Richie to think. There was only the tequila soaked honeysuckle that was pressed to his lips, warm and dry, soft to the touch against his own. She gave mixed kisses, her mouth half closed and half open, leaving a spot of wetness against the middle ring of Richie’s bottom lip, a soft hint of hot breath that mixed with his own for just a split moment.

She pulled away for a moment, and Richie wanted to lick his lips, taste her more and fully like the animal he was- no better than any of the men in the bar that crave the same things, though Richie would never want to do anything to Kate that would hurt her.

Then there was another, quick kiss that soon followed, the kiss more urgent, testing the waters for Kate’s true desires, and Richie could sit on that dirty couch and kiss the preacher’s daughter until the sun came up; no need for heavy breaths and hands knotted into long brown hair, fingertips digging into his back- hours of sitting on the couch and just letting Kate press her lips against his own, the most basic and simple sign of affection, a thing that Richie craved above all else. A thing Richie didn’t realize he craved until that moment.

“Preacher’s daughter strikes again.”

_Goddamit Seth._

She was moving away from him like he burned her, and he winced internally at that reaction, though making sure to keep his face a cool mask. He rose just as quickly as she did, instantly following her as she walked toward to door that lead to the main bar.

“Kate-” he reached for her but she was out of his reach. She didn’t turn around, and the taste of honeysuckle was less than sweet against his lips, almost sour. He followed behind her as she walked out of the room, ignoring the jabbing comment Seth was making- Richie watched Kate’s back as she moved away from him, slipping into the crowd and away from his reaching hand. Richie could see the wound that infested Kate had grown deeper now, pulsing red and oozing, dripping blood through a gaping hole in Kate that left her less than herself… and Richie didn’t have any duct tape left to patch her up.

 


End file.
